


i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

by theviolonist



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>to keep the goddess on my side / she demands a sacrifice</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [fem!february comment ficathon](http://fluffyfrolicker.livejournal.com/58449.html?page=3#t1945937).

the girl with the hand rising above her  _is_  the hand, you realize, the girl  
  
with the hand  
  
 _is_  the hand  
  
  
-  
  
she calls out. she says, save me? and you say, only gods can save, and she says, you are a goddess, and you say, am i?  
  
and you say, anyway, athena does that sort of thing, not me  
  
never me  
  
and the girl says, save me.  
  
-  
  
so you save her. what else were you going to do?  
  
-  
  
that girl, she tells you, javelins and spears and daggers are not for girls in the mortal world, so she runs, she runs past all the boys with her ankles light and the dust flies behind her golden like a halo  
  
you run? you say, you run? how far do you run?  
  
farther than you, she says, but you ignore the taunt, you know the stories, athena - athena, always athena - and her little seamstress turned littler, littler, until she could only crawl...  
  
why didn't you run?  
  
she looks at you sharply, she says, we've talked  
  
enough now  
  
-  
  
so death, death-  
  
does not take me, she says, and she asks, where do you run?  
  
near the river.  
  
with the deers?  
  
yes, with the deers and the wolves and the chamois and the wild forest pigs, but... what about the wind?  
  
the wind does not need blood to blow  
  
yes, you say, that's fair (your brother apollo would've remembered his childhood friend the chaos god, he would've said, what  _doesn't_  need blood?)  
  
don't call it fair, says the girl, men make justice not us, this is freedom  
  
run now, run -- and she takes your hand  
  
-  
  
so in the end it's a throw whether  _you_  saved her or  _she_  saved you, although of course you are a goddess so can not be damned, so cannot be saved -- the draw being: she saved herself.  
  
-  
  
for all she presents to be a precious shining stone the girl is a girl (is a girl, is a matryoshka doll), she misses her kin, her brothers and sisters and even her mad mad mother, even the father who --  
  
she doesn't want to talk about it. she eats your food, drinks the water from your rivers, braids your hair, snarls at your nymphs. she  
  
(kisses your brow, kisses your hand, kisses your skin)  
  
child, you say, child, child, i have enough worshippers, not you  
  
she says, no this is not worship, you mistake  
  
my intent  
  
-  
  
this girl is a hand is a veil of tears is a breathed kiss is a sacrifice  
  
i am a scar, says the girl, melodramatic, and your brother laughs when you tell him.  
  
you say you, you have loved harder, with less constancy than this  
  
he says yes, i have loved many, many, many  
  
but you are the chaste goddess  
  
and you ask him what he means but he leaves you, he kisses the tips of your fingers his eyes sparkle and he leaves to shine a sun somewhere new where it has never ever snowed  
  
-  
  
(the chaste goddess, you tell her sleeping form: why did they take my patience as a promise?)  
  
-  
  
i do not put stock by death, the girl says, or time  
  
so you have to smile. time doesn't need your approval to pass, little girl.  
  
stay with you eternally, babbles the girl  
  
there has to be softness to say no. there has to be the roar of the aegean sea, the memory of things past, that proverb about human life being like a candle onto which you drip, little by little, a rosary of tears...  
  
-  
  
looking from above, the allfather says, how long have you been teaching that girl how to pray?


End file.
